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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503894">Alptraum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketch12Artist/pseuds/Sketch12Artist'>Sketch12Artist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fausts Alptraum (Video Game), Metal Fight Beyblade | Beyblade: Metal Fusion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood Trauma, Mental Illness, Psychological Horror, Surreal, mentions of abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:28:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketch12Artist/pseuds/Sketch12Artist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fausts Alptraum/Beyblade AU. May end up as a part of a series, but not entirely sure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Returning “Home”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Today is Heinrich Faust’s funeral.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the little boy glanced at the sign, he couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved and anxious at the words. A memory flittered up but was repressed as the little boy turned back to the quiet crowd of adults before him. Despite how the sign read, however, even he was unsure if that was the man’s real name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, let’s put it this way—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today is daddy’s funeral.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are more people than I thought,” Auntie huffed, looking tersely down at the boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does it really matter?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The boy looked over the rain-soaked cluster of black. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do we even need to get up on this dreary day?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some people were crying, although the rain hid the tears. It was almost nice to know that people would still lament this death. It was so dull, and the boy felt so sleepy. He almost wished he was in the coffin instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the service finished, Auntie started crying. It was fake, like always, but people never noticed. The coffin clicked closed, like a herd of clouds running into the wall, and was lowered into the ground. The boy didn’t care. Maybe they could go back to the house now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But alas, Auntie had other ideas. The boy was simply dragged along as they both stepped into the carriage and headed onwards to some undisclosed location. He tried to get some rest, but the bumpy road made that near impossible. When the carriage stopped, the boy followed her towards a familiar mansion. The boy’s stomach knotted up as he watched the older woman fiddling with a ring of keys, house looming above him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it this one. . .No. . . .” Auntie mumbled under her breath, and the boy could tell that she was frustrated. Better not to focus on her, then. Perhaps he should focus on the old mansion, then?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed softly, eyes peering out from damp bangs. No matter how tidily the lush blue tiles were stacked on the roof, one could still detect the passage of time. Even the off-white walls had aged slightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How long had it been since the boy called this place home?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm? What’s wrong?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy didn’t want to go in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Auntie smiled wryly as if reading his mind. “You only have to go in and see what’s in there. Don’t worry, it belongs to you now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liar, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the boy thought to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do you think that would bother me? That’s not what you all say at your home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older woman sighed, finally opening the door, “Fine. Wait out here, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched as she disappeared into the house. Then the waiting game began. The boy sat on the ground, back against a nearby tree, and simply watched the front door. It didn’t take long for him to get bored and start daydreaming. But as time passed, the boy noticed that Auntie hadn’t come out. This was unusual for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Marthe?” The boy entered the foyer, stepping onto the worn carpet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Complete silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The very air itself seemed to be frozen as he walked further inside. A horizontal layout could barely be made out through the sunlight peeking through the doorway. None of the lights were on. In the silence, it almost seemed if dust would be stirred up if the boy continued forward. But the odd thing was that there was no dust at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The boy tried the doors to the right and left of the room, but both were locked. It was hard to see in the darkness. The electricity must be on. Where’s a light?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mew!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy jumped, then turned around to the source of the sound. Feline eyes pierced through the gloom, coal-black fur melting into the shadows, separated by some patches of creamy white. The boy relaxed. It was just a cat. It had probably gotten in when he’d opened the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat’s ear flicked as the boy slowly approached, then it fled. Not to the front door, like the boy expected, but under the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Weird. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought for a second time as he peered into the door that had been hidden from view. Was Auntie down there? It seemed unlikely, but she was the only one with the keys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The empty path in front of him extended downward, into the darkness. The boy made sure to watch his step as he descended the stairwell; it wouldn’t be fun to trip in the darkness. Once he was safely down the stairs, a long, stone corridor greeted him. Was this the basement? Or perhaps some long-forgotten cellar? Either way, there was only one path to walk down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy opened the only door that this corridor had led to. Empty space all around him, cast in pitch-black darkness greeted him. Nothing revealed itself. The stagnant air thrummed violently in his ears. There was no way Auntie could be here. Now he felt foolish for exploring and a bit afraid of facing Auntie’s wrath if she had already gone back outside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A screeching noise came from the door behind him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What in the world?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy opened the door, attempting to leave, and then darkness oozed in. He looked on in disbelief, the corridor gone, at the immense void in front of him. The boy stared at it, and in turn, it stared back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the beginning of the nightmare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A patch of purple was eerily bright in the absence of light as if it had been sugarcoated or glazed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” An ear piercingly sweet voice queried as the purple patch probed out from the inky depths. Smooth locks bleached of color, as if waiting for the delicate brush of a painter’s palette, shone out as the beautiful face peered at the young boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi?” The boy hesitantly replied, and the smile on the young man’s face quickly faded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young man, who the boy noticed had ribbed horns curling out from his head, wore a look of disappointment as if he had been expecting someone else. “Oh, excellent. You understand me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy scrambled out of the way as the lean figure pulled itself up as if he was ascending a flight of stairs. Long, long, frilly sleeves swayed in his vision as the young man queried again. “What time is it? Is it spring?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way the attractive young man moved wasn’t entirely human.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” The young man focused his golden eyes on the boy. “I remember the door being locked. If there’s nothing else, can you please close it on your way out?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He started to head further into the darkness, strange boots clopping like a horse’s hooves, or perhaps a goat’s. He seemed bored, but it made the boy uneasy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy cleared his throat, gathering his courage, then yelled defiantly, “I don’t want to leave!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was daddy’s old house, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>should be the one to inherit it. The adults had said that before. No matter how unwilling their expressions had been, the adults had indeed said that before. So he wasn’t going to let himself be swept out the door by anyone, no matter what.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He immediately regretted those words as the young man suddenly appeared before him despite being a good deal away when the young boy had shouted. The expression on the young man’s face had changed slightly, now slightly curious instead of entirely bored. The boy tilted his head up to meet his gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A garnish grin suddenly split open, and the young man’s eyes briefly flashed a violent red, as if he remembered the boy from somewhere. He was gleeful, and a gnawing fear suddenly possessed the boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Timothy,” His cloyingly sweet voice slowly pronounced the boy’s name. “You’ve returned.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lights flickered as if someone was playing with the curtains, despite there being no windows. And in that moment Timothy quickly flung open the door, not even caring about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>slam </span>
  </em>
  <span>it had made. His body moved of its own volition, disconnected from his panic and confusion. Timothy sprinted up the steps, passing through the doorway and back into the foyer. He relaxed slightly as his feet hit the carpet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did I even enter this place?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The butterflies in his stomach threatened to overspill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As long as the front door was still open then—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy stopped, staring at a blank wall where the door should’ve been. It loomed over him, intimidating him with its emptiness. His heart pounded as the room seemed to change, flickering uncertainly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hospital with bloody gunneries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A room tinted mint green.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Church with bloodstained windows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” The young man’s voice reached Timothy’s ears just as the room returned to normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spun on his heel, facing the young man, “Let me out!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh? What’s that you say? There’s no such thing as a front door.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just came in from the front door!” Timothy’s face felt hot, uncomfortably so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young man lazily replied, “I didn’t see that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You told me to shut the door on my way out!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember saying that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The unease that had been building up suddenly exploded inside of the boy, almost tangible in strength. Terror, exhaustion, all swirled together in a poisonous ice cream sundae. Timothy didn’t want to face this latest turn of events. The room started to spin as the corners of his eyes darkened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” The young man’s voice sounded distant, echoing around him. “Timothy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How did he know his name?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy’s eyes shut firmly before he could utter a single word, and he knew no more.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Bet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span>Chapter Two</span>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the ticking clock that woke Timothy from his sleep, his eyes fluttering open. The pendulum swayed away in the empty air as if it was the only thing left in the world. Maybe it would be someday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where was he, though?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy sat up, finding himself in a small room. It wasn’t too bad, actually. At least he had a bed, nightstand, and drawers. There was a wall in the middle of the room, but it didn’t block the door. It just divided the room. He hopped out of bed, putting on his shoes before catching a glimpse of a green wrapper on the nightstand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some chocolate?” Timothy examined the small tin, musing to himself. It would be a good source of energy, maybe even the only food he’d get while trapped. If that was the case, he shouldn’t eat too many pieces from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He set it back down, peering out of the nearby French doors. The world outside looked fake, even in the darkness, like a faded picture or a sketch. The doors were locked from the outside, so no matter how much Timothy pulled and tugged and hit, they wouldn’t open. He wandered away from them, instead looking for a bag to carry things in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The reflection of Timothy’s face in the mirror was stern as he searched the drawers for a bag, finally finding one after a few minutes. It was old, made of dark green leather, but it would do. He could worry about the cracks later. Now he could carry the chocolate with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy's hands brushed against something soft, and he pulled out the stuffed doll from the bag. It was a garish purple, with gold button eyes, and its limbs were curled strips. It was somewhat comforting to see, like it was an old toy he used to own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Odd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly stuffed both the doll and the chocolate tin inside, heading towards the door. It opened with a soft click, and he ran for the foyer. The front door had to be there. It couldn’t have just vanished, that would be silly. Doors didn’t work that way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But again Timothy was staring at an empty wall where the front door used to be. It still towered over him, making him feel small. How was this possible?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He woke himself up with a brisk shake of his head, like he had gotten up too early. Although he hadn’t figured out what had happened, Timothy didn’t feel like standing there and looking at the empty wall. Cold shivers ran down his back as he finished that thought, accompanied by someone walking down the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would it make a difference if he made a decent effort to communicate with the young man?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you want to leave? Why are you suddenly looking for the door?” Those weren’t actual questions, just wry sarcasm that hung insidiously in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy slumped on the carpet, facing him, “Who are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wide grin split across the young man’s face as if he had been waiting for that very question. The young man bowed with an almost comical amount of flourishes. “I am Mephistopheles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a stupid name.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” The young man tilted his head, seemingly confused save for the tell-tale smirk on his face. “Then what do you propose as my name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy thought for a moment, focusing on the sleeves of the figure. To him, they looked too large to be sleeves. No, they looked more like. . . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to call you Tsubasa," He told the young man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fair enough. Tsubasa it is, then." The young man, now Tsubasa, simply shrugged in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What exactly are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsubasa smiled and slowly paced in a wide circle around the boy. He spread his arms (hands?) in a way that was annoying to Timothy. “I am the djinni that denies everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those long sleeves waved in a sinister manner, more like the wings of an eagle. . .or a vulture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With much reluctance, Timothy asked, “Can you tell me where the front door is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t I say there’s no such thing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you said, ‘I didn’t see a thing?’.” Timothy crossed his arms, stubbornness showing through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you come here of your own volition?” Tsubasa leaned forward, hands on his hips, face pursed into mock confusion. “How do you not know where it is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy snapped, “What do you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They won’t tell you anything. They don’t even welcome you. ‘If only you haven’t been born’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young man had stolen the right to speak, words dripping onto Timothy’s head like glaze. He had to resist the urge to cover his ears, to cry, in the face of the cloyingly sweet voice, one that he couldn’t defend himself against.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think about it, this place isn’t so bad. It’s quiet here, and no one will say those things to you. You won’t even want to leave after a while.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy looked up at the beautiful face, to rebuke this weird theory. “No way! I don’t want to stay or spend even a second here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not even a second?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not even a second!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsubasa tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Hmm. . .Alright, want to make a bet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What sort of bet?” Timothy was immediately wary. Adults never make fair bets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to leave, I’ll show you the way out. But,” Tsubasa immediately held his hand up to stop him from interrupting, “If at any moment you wax nostalgic about your time here, or wish to preserve any instant for eternity, you lose.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And when I leave?” Timothy queried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then you’re welcome to think about this place as you please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy paused, thinking hard. The bet didn’t seem so hard. He didn’t want to stay in this place. And at least the terms were fair since the bet didn’t last forever. However. . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When you say any instant, does that mean if I say something like ‘Wait a minute!’ when I need to catch someone’s attention, I lose the bet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young man paused as if he hadn’t considered that. “Well, I suppose if you’re just flagging someone down with the intent of simply gaining their attention, then no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Timothy paused again, thinking about anything else that needed clarification. “Does thinking about something that happened here, like processing the event, count as losing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As long as no nostalgic emotions occur, then no.” Tsubasa grinned suddenly, “You’re quite the keen boy, Timothy. Always making sure the terms are fair.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy didn’t answer that, instead extending his hand. “Let’s shake on it. That way it’s official and nothing can be changed about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” Tsubasa knelt down, shaking his hand. For such a pale figure, he was quite warm. He let go, standing back up. “Then it’s settled.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clocks in the house began to chime as the purple figure ascended the stairs, vanishing in the distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bet had already begun.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Puss in Boots Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! As a quick warning to all readers, all chapters after this one take a deep dive into trauma and how it affects a person. Many scenes may be triggering, so please stay safe and know your limits. This chapter will act as a slight introduction to that.</p><p>Also, the puzzle in the story relied on some of the text to be colored so that you, the reader, could follow along. However AO3 doesn’t support this feature, so use your imagination to visualize the colors.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Timothy stared at the empty space where Tsubasa had been. It seemed he would be alone in this, but somehow he still felt like those golden eyes were watching him. They were peering from the shadows, somewhere unseen, he was sure of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But what to do now? Exploring didn’t seem very appealing, not at all. Maybe he could stay in the foyer until the bet was over? That seemed safer than exploring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something moved from the corner of Timothy’s eye, and he turned to greet whatever had passed. Nothing was there, save for a candle and matches on a small table that he swore wasn’t there before. There was a piece of paper underneath the candle, and out of curiosity he approached and picked up the candle, matches dropped straight into the bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He unfolded the paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A crudely drawn map greeted him, crayon wax smudging onto his hand. There was the foyer, then two hallways on the left and right with some rooms filled in. It looked useful, but he didn’t plan on exploring—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something leapt out at the boy, and he quickly backed away as the large rat missed its mark, instead landing on the table. It was the size of a horse, with milky eyes and long claws and a long, ropelike tail. It was sniffing the air, glistening nose twitching, looking for him. Could Timothy make it to a door? Maybe race upstairs?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rat turned and started rushing straight towards him. Timothy bolted to the right, opening the oak door and slamming it behind him. The rat shrieked, then started scratching the door, unable to get inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy’s heart pounded in his chest as he caught his breath. What other horrors were here? First that creepy abyss, then Tsubasa, now this giant rat. . . . He would have to keep moving if he didn’t want to be caught.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that he had collected himself, he was startled to hear the notes of a piano in the air. Was someone else here? Trapped like he was? There was safety in numbers, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands fumbled with the map before he could read it clearly. There was a music room drawn on, just around the corner. It was the second door up that hallway. Good. He would have help soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music got louder and louder as he approached, covering up the sound of his shoes scuffing the carpet. There were other rooms, but he didn’t care about them. All that mattered was the potential person in the Music Room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Timothy finally reached the door to the room, he grinned and opened it expecting to see someone inside. Instead, the room was dark and Timothy could barely make out the figure of a woman at the piano. The piano keys started to be played horridly, as if someone was having a temper tantrum, then Timothy was unceremoniously tossed out into the hallway. The Music Room door was now locked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now what?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy retraced his steps, trying the other doors. Those were all locked save for the living room. Since he didn’t have any inclination to go back into the foyer, this was the only place he could go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The candle flame flickered in the dimly lit room as he moved forward. Timothy set it onto a nearby drawer as he took out the matches, relighting the candle. There, now it was brighter. He could see the rest of the room better now. It didn’t seem particularly lively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two bookshelves were crammed against the wall in the left corner facing him, gaudy pictures covering the wall next to them. A single sofa was facing the coffee table in the middle of the room. A window was on the wall facing Timothy as well, towards the right side. For such a large space, Timothy had expected more out of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few pieces of paper on the coffee table caught his eye, so he sat on the sofa and picked them up. They were carelessly tied together, messy scribbles on them. On the top of the first page, the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots </span>
  </em>
  <span>were written in black crayon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘There lived an ordinary family a long, long time ago.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When the father passed away, he left a house behind to his children.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He left the mill to the eldest, and a mule to the second oldest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The youngest was left nothing but the cat on the farm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I guess I can only skin you and take your fur to the market.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The youngest had run out of money.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The cat spoke hastily when it heard these words,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, don’t do that. I will repay you in kind if you show me kindness and give me a pair of shoes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The youngest was curious and begged a pair of old boots off a passing cobbler.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The cat, now shod in boots, followed the youngest to town.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The town keeper refused to open the gate when it started to rain that night.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crunch crunch crunch</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The cat in boots ate the town keeper.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The youngest changed into warm clothes and spent the night in comfort.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>. . . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the pages were missing. Timothy pouted at the cliffhanger, wanting to know how the story ended. But he was also confused. Who had left this here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meow!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy turned and was soon face to face with the cat from before. Both cat and boy stared at each other, until the cat ran off into the hallway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weird.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were still more things to do, so Timothy stood up to see what the bookshelves had in them. He opened up one of the books:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Only one person is listening</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A young and beautiful girl</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who is that person?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who is that person?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just an old man’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Boring. What a stupid poem.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A brief glance outside the window revealed a small fountain bathed in sunlight, a small garden surrounding it. It almost seemed like it was midday out there, but that couldn’t be possible. It hadn’t been midday when he looked out of a window earlier, not that he was able to tell what time it was with how fake it looked. Besides, it had been raining and it was supposed to rain for the entire day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was nothing else to do in here, so Timothy let out a frustrated huff and turned to leave, but not before a photograph suddenly fell off the wall, breaking the frame. Now he was staring dumbfounded at a note that had been hidden inside. Picking it up, Timothy couldn’t help but wonder if someone was really helping him, or if it had just been sheer luck that caused the picture to fall. It was an old house, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On it, he could make out something:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>B </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>C </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>K</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>1 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>2 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>3 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>4</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was this some sort of code? If so, what for? Why were the letters and numbers colored with different crayons? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Either way, it could come in handy later on. Maybe it could help him solve a riddle of sorts, or open a lock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy noticed that the giant rat had gone quiet as soon as he stepped out of the living room. Had it tired? Had it given up, or was it waiting for him just outside the range of his candle? He couldn’t tell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something clinked underneath his shoe, and he looked down to see a key on the floor. An uneasy feeling started to form in his stomach, but he still picked it up. The label on it read “Left Corridor on First Floor”, a hint of where to go next. Someone was leaving breadcrumbs for Timothy, but he wasn’t sure who, or what their intentions were. Again he felt like those gold eyes were watching from somewhere unseen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a deep breath he opened the door and stepped back into the foyer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing. No large rat, no milky eyes staring at him, no teeth buried in his throat. It was quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy waited, then decided that he needed to throw something. If the rat was nearby, surely it would move to investigate the source of the noise. But what to throw. . . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A small piece of chocolate was in his hand, and with a quick flick of his wrist it flew and landed right in the middle of the room. It didn’t make much noise, but Timothy doubted that the rat could resist the pull of sweet chocolate. After a few minutes of waiting and still no sign of the rat, he quickly darted across the foyer and unlocked the left door, shutting it tight behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact that he couldn’t locate the giant rat made Timothy feel jumpy. It was the size of a horse, and yet he couldn’t find it. How could something so big hide so well?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The left hallway was a copy of the right, just with different rooms. On the first door he saw a poem taped on: </span>
  <em>
    <span>A sparkling exterior shines but for a moment, only internal beauty will endure the ages.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It didn’t open, and Timothy sighed, boredly popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth before he continued down the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other door was locked, and the hallway ended after rounding the corner to a door leading outside. It was nighttime when he peered out this time. Timothy wondered if the right hallway had a door leading outside as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Timothy was about to leave the hallway, the door with the poem suddenly opened. A shiver ran down his back as he entered the room, with its large table covered in papers and a few bookshelves against the right wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>First things first, check the bookshelves. There weren’t many interesting books, save for one: </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Interpretation of Dreams</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The page he opened up to was about people that appeared in dreams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A person’s mind will not simply create new faces. We have previously met all those we have seen in dreams, but we may have simply forgotten about them.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy placed the book back on the shelf. The information was interesting, but utterly useless in a practical sense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other bookshelves held nothing of interest, save for the third.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bedtime Tales</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I asked my brother to store my eyes in the glass jar because it was scary at night. There aren’t any lights.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What sort of bedtime tale is that? Doesn’t sound appropriate for children.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy’s eyes were soon drawn to a large safe sitting next to a fireplace. On top of it was a piece of paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>B+C=[]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>B+K=[]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A+K=[]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A+B=[]</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy quickly took the code paper out of his bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>B </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>C </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>K</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>1 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>2 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>3 </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>4</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He examined it closely, thinking carefully about what it could mean. It was strange that each letter and number, save for ‘K’ and ‘4’, had a different color, unless that was what mattered instead of the letters and numbers themselves. . . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh! It was like a color wheel, and since three letters were primary colors and three numbers were secondary colors, then adding the letters would give him the combination!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So that meant B+C was 2, since blue and yellow created green. That meant B+K was 4, because any color added to black just made it tinted black, same with A+K. And A+B was 1,because red and blue created purple.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy tried his combination, carefully turning the combination lock so that it aligned with his findings. 2441. That was the combination. He held his breath as the safe clicked, then attempted to open it. The door creaked on unused hinges, and Timothy grinned triumphantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Inside lay a piece of paper and a small set of keys. Unfolding the paper revealed a map for the second floor, but it only had three rooms marked: the room he’d woken up in, the gallery, and Kagome’s Room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who was Kagome?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The set of keys was clearly more interesting. How many doors could he unlock? There were only five keys on the ring, but maybe one or more of them could open multiple doors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now for the table. Most of it was some sort of adult talk, stuff like ‘patent’ and ‘repercussions’, but there was another part of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots </span>
  </em>
  <span>story tangled among them. Timothy eagerly picked up the pages.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘The youngest fell in love with the princess warbling outside the window.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But the town castle door was locked and guarded by a monstrous rat.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Monstrous rat? Like the one he’d seen before?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meow!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat was back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both boy and cat stared at each other and in that silence they came to an understanding. It was hard to describe how they did it, but for Timothy it was akin to finding a kind soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat followed him out of the room, keeping silent vigil behind him. At least it would keep the rat at bay. All rats, even big, horse-sized ones, were scared of cats.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A grandfather clock in the distance suddenly began to chime. One, two, three, four. Four o’clock? First it was midday, then nighttime, now four? What was wrong with this place?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Either way, heading upstairs seemed to be his next step, if the new map he got with the keys was any indication.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat followed Timothy upstairs, not even slightly repulsed by the jarring record that started playing from somewhere unseen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf. . . .” Despite everything, Timothy sung a little of the opening line before stopping, self conscious about his voice even if his audience was a cat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To the right, the song grew louder as soon as Timothy encountered the first door. It was locked, with a strange flap on it. A pit of dread formed quickly in his stomach as soon as he saw it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s there?” The flap suddenly opened, revealing a single red eye of a mask peeking through. It was a boy’s voice, older than Timothy but not a young man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone is. . . </span>
  </em>
  <span>Timothy was interrupted by running footsteps behind the door, as if the other boy had decided to hide. The door was still locked. There wasn’t any hole for a key to go in, so it must lock from the inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he heard more footsteps, and the flap opened up once more. “Who’s there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s what I wanted to ask! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Despite inwardly pouting, Timothy was still polite. “I’m Timothy—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Who’s that?” An identical voice came from another boy inside, pushing the red-eye one out of the way. The mask was blindfolded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who is it?” Another boy asked, still having the same voice as his siblings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy queried, “I came in by accident, do you—?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weird people can’t come in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t come in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re having a very important party,” the red-eye one boasted, “Weird people can’t come in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to have manners!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come in?” The blindfold one giggled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you look at yourself first?” The third teased. “Kagome always dressed nicely.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That name again? Who was Kagome?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to see her? Then let her in.” The boys were completely ignoring Timothy now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, we can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He can’t wear that thing to a party.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some laughter, then the red-eye focused its attention to Timothy. “You hear that? At least change out of that ugly suit!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the flap shut. No matter how many times he knocked, no one answered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy continued down the hallway, unlocking the door nearby. Instead of a room, it was a sort of rectangular overhang, overlooking the living room. A white rail prevented anyone from falling. There was a door on the side he was facing, so Timothy walked along the overhang until he reached the door, unlocking this one as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing he saw was a painting of the Virgin Mary. She was holding a baby with only a body and no head. To the left of that was a coffee table, two couches on either side, and a book on the wooden surface. Timothy sat on a couch and picked it up, opening the grey cover. The cat simply watched right next to him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> Oktober</span></em></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Grounded today.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>May be grounded all winter, mother is very angry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> Oktober</span></em></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Siebel comes everyday.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not necessary, but it seems that Brother asked Siebel to do this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> Oktober</span></em></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It started snowing early this year.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep snowing and just bury this place.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> November</span></em></li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Successfully went outside!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Heart still pounding, but need to clear off snow by window first and hide clothes worn outside.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I slipped out through the hole in the fence this dawn. The streets were already white, and the atmosphere was different than last month.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Frost covered everything and every snowflake sang a gay tune.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Heinrich is waiting for me by the window.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The writing stopped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is. . . a diary? Whose diary?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kagome, your mother’s.” The voice behind Timothy had come out of nowhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The black cat hissed, then vanished out of sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took a while for the word ‘mother’ to register as Timothy was busy escaping those fondant white locks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked up at Tsubasa with wary confusion, “Kagome was Mother’s name? Father called her Marguerit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you looking at me that way?” Tsubasa seemed affronted, hand going over his chest, lip curling. “I’m not the one going through people’s diaries.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mother lived here?” Timothy redirected the topic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course she did! You of all people should know that, Timothy.” He paused. “But then again, it has been a while. Perhaps I shouldn’t be too harsh. Four years is plenty of time to forget.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy opened his mouth, but the demon had gotten up and was now pacing around the coffee table and couches, staring at him fixedly like an eagle. It was quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think? This room is pretty nice, right? Your room is on the other side. It’s also very pretty. Why don’t you just stay and live here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No way!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsubasa stopped, faux confusion suddenly plastered on his face. “But why not? Is it not good enough for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not—“ Timothy was interrupted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can fix it, you know. It can be any way you want it to be,” the cloying sweet voice started up in earnest. “It can be as regal as the one in Lé Brielle, if you so desire.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want that. I want to get out of here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you really?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! And you know that!” Timothy jumped up, stomping his foot for added effect. “I’m going to win and you can’t stop me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An amused smile spread like jam across the demon’s face. “We’ll see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, just like that, Tsubasa was gone.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Puss in Boots Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As soon as the demon had left, the large rat reappeared, bursting through the French doors that led to the balcony. Timothy bolted for the door, rat following close behind. He swore that it was trying to nip his heels as he ran down the corridor. He also swore that the corridor seemed to be getting longer in length, but he couldn’t tell for certain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like forever before he almost tripped down the stairs and into the right corridor. He could still hear the skittering footsteps of the rat as he fumbled the doorknob, locking the door. Again the rat was left scratching at the oak door, but this time it was starting to splinter beneath the rat's paws. Panic started to coil around Timothy's heart and lungs, constricting painfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where could he go? He didn’t want to die!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The key ring—it had to unlock some other doors! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first door he ran to was a heavier-looking oak one, but none of the keys he hastily crammed in worked. The rat’s claws were starting to poke through the door, and Timothy ran to a weaker-looking door, wanting something—anything—between him and the rat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No. . . no. . . no. . . yes! One the keys slid smoothly in, unlocking with a satisfying </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He stumbled into a large dining room, so eager to escape he was. He shut the door behind him just in the nick of time as the rat ran down the hall, shrill squeaks filling the air. Its cries faded, then were gone as if snatched from the air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy was still for a few moments, not believing his good fortune. The silence was more terrifying to him than any of the squeaks of the rat. It had to be hiding somewhere, maybe waiting for him to lower his guard so that it could sneak up on him and try again. But when the minute hand of a nearby clock went from 3 to 4 ½ and the rat didn’t appear, he began to explore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dining hall was spacious and cozy, with a large fireplace at the farthest wall. The main focus was the long table, enough to sit 30 people at a time, furnished with a creamy-white tablecloth and fine china dishes. A smaller table filled with fresh scones and small cakes was next to the main table, as if someone was in the process of setting up a buffet. Timothy’s stomach growled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsubasa hadn’t said anything about meals, and so Timothy warily approached the desserts fully expecting a surprise appearance from the demon. . .or the rat. Chocolates could only keep him full for so long, so it would be nice if he could get something a bit more filling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He snatched up a decent-looking chocolate cake slice, not caring about the mess he'd be scolded for as he stuffed it into his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ugh. Too sweet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve, grimacing at the taste. Whoever the cook was, they had a poor concept on what chocolate cake should taste like.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy heard something from behind a door he hadn't noticed earlier, probably leading the kitchen. It was muffled, but he was sure he heard some yowling and yelling. Then it suddenly stopped and the doorknob began to turn. The only decent place to hide was underneath the main table, so he quickly dove under and went still.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rhythmic beating of Timothy’s heart was as loud as a parade drum to him. He feared that it would gain the attention of whoever or whatever was behind that door. A grey hem came into view, swiftly moving parallel to the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mangy cat. . .don't know why she bothers keeping it around," an old woman's voice grumbled as the grey hem passed by Timothy's hiding place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy didn't move until he heard the door slam and the footsteps fade. He bolted for the kitchen door and carefully peered in to see if anyone was inside. No one was, so he emerged and made his way to the kitchen door. The cat was somewhere inside, otherwise the old crone wouldn’t have mentioned it. Hopefully she hadn’t shooed it outside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What greeted him behind the door wasn’t what he was expecting. A small booklet lay on the floor in front of him, protected by a piece of cardstock the same color as his mother’s diary. He picked it up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> November</span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Went to feast yesterday. Heinrich slipped me some extra dessert. I think Mother saw what he did, because she pouted the rest of the night.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Siebel says brother couldn’t make it because of his job. I’m not sure what he does. All I hear about is ‘basic training’ and ‘navy’ and ‘national pride’. I don’t know what cloth dye has to do with pride.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> November </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Spent the day in my room. The imps were playing outside in the snow. When they saw me, they ran off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> December</span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t play the piano properly anymore. The sounds all form the same melody.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone wants me to keep playing. I get scolded for missing even a day. They say it’s good because I talk more often and sometimes smile.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But I only smile because it’s Heinrich’s voice that sings to the piano whenever I play.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> December</span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We met at night.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This must be a gift from God! Even now my heart feels as if a spark has been set to dry tinder. What if I burn up?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve seen his face so often, but every time we meet it’s like the first time. I can still feel those grey eyes, rimmed with glasses, on me. Even when I sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Heinrich says he can take me away from here. But as long as I have him I don’t care where I am.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> December</span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mother is angry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She forbade me to see him. My Heinrich.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her eyes were as cold as ice, and she didn’t say anything. The head doctor switched out Heinrich for a nurse.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why why why?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy shuddered and tossed the book away from him. So that’s why his aunt seemed to disapprove of Father and Mother’s union. Father was her doctor, but what was he treating her for?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp yowl brought him away from his thoughts. Of course, he forgot about the cat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One of the barrels was shaking, and with little consideration for what might be inside that </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> the cat Timothy popped the lid open. The cat immediately jumped out and began to groom itself. It seemed grateful for his help.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.” Timothy pet the cat as it rubbed itself against his stockings. It felt nice to have a companion again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cat straightened up, then dashed towards the door before running back to him. It did that a few times before Timothy opened the door. The same thing happened in the dining room and to the door to the foyer. Now the cat was running up and down the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you leading me somewhere?” Timothy looked down as the cat stopped in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mew!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take that as a yes.” He followed the cat upstairs. “What is there that you want me to see so bad?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cat led him back to the room Timothy had woken up in, then scratched at the french doors. Soon enough the key right was taken out and the keys tested. Like before only one key worked, so now two of the five keys had a purpose.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy pushed open the French doors and stepped onto the spacious balcony. The sight of a large greenhouse garden met his eyes. For some reason, it seemed to be attached to this part of the house. He could hear birdsong, but couldn’t see the bird.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mew!” The cat tugged at his trousers before running to another door on the balcony. It must lead to another room of sorts, considering the history. . . .</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He briskly shook his head. He didn’t know of any history.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cat dashed into the plain room as soon as he opened the door, jumping on top of a safety deposit box. There was a note tucked under its paws: </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Start with the most expensive.’</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The most expensive what?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy looked up at the cat and it hopped onto the bed, off of a bookmark that someone had taken notes on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Heart: 110,000£, Eyes: 1,500£, Tooth: 1,000£, Blood: 300£.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There didn’t seem to be anything else, but the box only went up to four. Something had to be missing. The cat didn’t seem to know anything else, so he would have to find out a solution on his own. Maybe he was supposed to add all the numbers together? Multiply them? Raise them to the second power?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly the room was being torn up as the young boy searched desperately for clues. There had to be something he had missed. There just had to be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mew!” The cat interrupted his frantic searching.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy looked at the cat as it sat next to the deposit box, nudging it open with a paw. He could see the combination used: 1113. Now he felt foolish. It looked like it had been a simple matter of taking the first number and plugging them in the right order from greatest to least expensive. Inside was a paint covered key and a page for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So this is what the cat wanted him to find?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t have much time to contemplate it as the giant rat made an appearance once again, bursting from the floorboards. The cat sprung between it and the boy, shooting him a look that clearly said to flee. In this case, there was no choice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again Timothy fled out of the room, soon finding himself in the hallway as the shrieks and yowls filled the air. His heart joined the chaotic orchestra, booming loudly as he ran. He tripped over the stairs, landing on his bottom before picking himself up and running back into the dining room. As soon as he closed the door, someone started pounding on it. Whoever it was sounded old, angry, and Timothy didn’t want to stick around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Into the kitchen he fled, slamming the heavy door shut. The paint covered key was in his hands now as he tried to scratch the paint off. It had to be important if the cat had solved a puzzle for him and the rat had shown up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then as if by magic Timothy found a door in the kitchen that led outside. He could barely make out the small pond from earlier. He impatiently shoved the key in and unlocked the door, stumbling out into the private garden.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But all was not well. Next to the pond lay the rat, dead, eyes bulging from their sockets and stomach torn out. The scent of blood permeated the air, thick and hazy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy threw up. When he straightened up the rat was gone and in its place was an old woman wearing a grey dress. The sight caused him to throw up again. Eventually his stomach had nothing left to expel and he wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Beside the small pond was a patch of recently disturbed dirt. Almost in a haze, Timothy knelt down and dug at that spot and uncovered a small tin box. He opened it to reveal another small booklet and more </span>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots</span>
  </em>
  <span> pages, the final pages in fact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With trembling hands he opened the booklet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t want to take medicine anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So cold.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What to write about?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So cold so cold so cold.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Must think of a way out before snow stops.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February </span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Siebel is here. He brought Heinrich.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February</span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Heinrich says he’ll save me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><em><span> February</span></em></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We left Mother by the pond.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy’s blood ran cold at the diary entries in front of him. So his mother had gone mad, or if not at this point then later. And the rat, the old woman, was his grandmother. But why had she been a rat?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shakily, he brought out the papers he’d found earlier and read them together with the final pages of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Crunch crunch crunch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The cat ate the guard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Crunch crunch crunch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The cat ate the jailer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Crunch crunch crunch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The cat ate the monster rat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And the miller’s son and the princess lived happily ever after, but not really.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Three Little Pigs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stumbling into the foyer, Timothy tried to distance himself from that horrible scene. His ears were ringing, as if a firecracker had gone off too close to him. His stomach churned like butter, and his palms were sweating with fear and disgust. Eventually his legs gave out, and he hit the carpet with a dull thump.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy didn’t notice the clicking of heels until the demon looked over him, a neutral expression on that pale face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see you’ve found Widow Hagane.” Tsubasa’s voice sounded muted, for some reason.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Widow Hagane?” The young boy repeated what he said in a daze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Her husband died and she was left raising her two children alone. She sacrificed any pleasure she could’ve had to ensure her daughter’s safety in the asylum. To think that would be her downfall.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s her body?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“An </span>
  <em>
    <span>image</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her body. She has been buried for many years now.” Timothy thought he saw a trace of disgust on the demon’s face. “She was buried in an unmarked grave, per your father’s orders.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy straightened up. “I don’t believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not? You of all people should know that he had loose morals, especially after reading those diary pages.” Tsubasa was walking in circles around him. “Your mother was his patient. Is that not enough proof?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he couldn’t argue with that, but he didn’t want to admit it. “You’re trying to distract me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe, maybe not,” Tsubasa crooned. “That’s all up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then the demon vanished and Timothy was left alone. There wasn’t anything he could do besides head back to the room he’d awoken in. . . .unless he wanted to go back to that door with the other kids behind it. Just thinking of smooth wood and their giggling made his stomach churn again, as if going to that door was a bad idea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But there’s nothing else to do but stay in the room. . . .</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ugh! This was so frustrating!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Remembering the insults from earlier, Timothy rummaged through the drawers for something more presentable. Something that would definitely wow the kids.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A bright spot of color caught his attention, and Timothy stopped his search, lifting up an elaborate red suit. The crimson fabric was brocaded with golden swirls and circles, undoubtedly handcrafted by a skilled hand. Closer examination revealed the style: English Cut.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His father used to wear this style.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking off the memory, Timothy quickly tried on the suit and found that it fit fairly well. The pants were a bit tight, and the jacket a bit long, but it fit. Looking in the mirror revealed his sharply dressed figure, wearing an outfit any boy his age would envy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Perfect. Those kids had to let him in now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy practically skipped down the hallway. He knocked on the door, and the flap opened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this good enough?” He spun around, showing off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was quiet for a long time, then,“Not really.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But then anyone could come in.” Another sighed. “So we still can’t let you in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy was floored, mouth agape. This wasn’t enough? Why?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The flap shut and the voices started to debate among themselves in hushed whispers. Timothy couldn’t hear much, just bits and pieces of sound. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The whispering stopped, and the flap opened. “If you bring us something pretty we’ll let you in. Only fair.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We like pretty things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have any?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha—I don’t—Hey, come back!” Timothy couldn’t hear anything, even with his ear pressed against the door. Looks like they ran off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A quick look in the bag revealed nothing of use. Chocolate and matches were necessary for a source of food and light. The doll would only earn him mocking, same with the key ring. He would have to search, then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What a pain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy stormed off, heading back onto the balcony and searching the rooms. Where the rat attacked the floorboards were damaged enough that, if he had an axe, he could probably break through it and into the room below. But other than that, there was nothing else inside. The next room had a safe in it, and a faceless doll on top. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Closer inspection revealed no lock on it, but the safe was locked. This was odd in itself, the doll even odder. Maybe to unlock it, he had to do something with the doll? He couldn’t lift it off, it was firmly stuck on, but maybe there was a clue inside the room that could help. It was worth looking, at least.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Searching proved fruitful, as Timothy found a plate shard nearby a drawing of a face. Seeing this gave him an idea; why not use the shard to carve out a face for the doll? Maybe that’s what unlocked the safe, carving a face for it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Scrrrrr! Rrrrr eeeek!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shard grated against the wooden face of the doll, mouth and eyes being carved into it. As soon as he lifted off the shard, there was a click and the door swung open with ease. Inside was a yellow gem and a bracelet. Holding the gem up to the light revealed the small insects trapped inside, suspended in midair almost. Every tiny detail was preserved.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This should do the trick, right?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy immediately headed back to the locked room, knocking on the door. The flap opened with a small click, beady red eyes peering out. Timothy inhaled sharply, heart fluttering as he pushed the gem in. It was quiet on the other side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first Pig said, “He brought it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two other Pigs were quickly shushed by the first. The conversation became hushed, then started up again. A beady eye looked at Timothy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s play a game.” Timothy got chills as the voice spoke.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hysterical laughter and snorts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, let’s play a game.” The second Pig giggled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hide and seek.” The third Pig added. “You know how to play, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re it!” The first Pig squealed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Timothy barely managed to move out of the way as the door swung open and the older boys ran past him. His eyes barely caught sight of the pig masks as they swiftly vanished down the stairs. All that was left was the echoes of their laughter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had a feeling that he’d unleashed something terrible in the manor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking off the feeling, Timothy entered the previously locked room. Inside the nursery was the gem, left behind, and it soon found a place inside his bag. It could still be useful in case he ran into them again. Hopefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Across from him was another door, locked, but it too had a key that fit inside. That was all five keys, then. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a deep breath, Timothy pushed open the door.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Blue Bird of Happiness Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time since being trapped in this mansion, Timothy could feel sunlight on his skin. The greenhouse hummed with life, filled with plants and insects.There was a bird singing its lungs out, filling the humid air with an eerie calm. It almost felt safe in this garden, but Timothy knew deep down that it wasn’t safe. This place never would be, not with the demon lurking around and doing what he pleased.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, this was a nice change of scenery from the darkness of the mansion.</p><p> </p><p>“Meow!” The cat reappeared, emerging from a bush.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello again.” Timothy scratched behind its ears. “Thank you for saving me from the rat.”</p><p> </p><p>The cat purred and twined around the young boy’s legs before following him deeper into the garden. </p><p> </p><p>Large hygenas were in full bloom, pinks and blues dotting the bushes in bunches. Alstroemerias and red poppies mingled together in hanging baskets above plots of tulips, marigolds, and cockscomb. Other flowers were present, but Timothy couldn’t recognize them. He was forced to take off the red jacket, sweat gathering because of the humidity in the glass building. If his uncle was here, he would’ve been reprimanded.</p><p> </p><p>A nearby sign revealed the layout of the garden, but at the same time didn’t. Instead of concrete directions, there were symbols and arrows instead. A tree was at the top right corner, then below it some flowers, then a sun with an arrow pointing down. Going left, next was a much larger gathering of flowers followed by a moon with an arrow pointing down. Going up, there was a hand, then a gate, then a flower, before the dotted line stopped at a teddy bear. In the middle of it all was a river, a bird, and another gate.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy was currently at the large gathering of flowers, so these flowers signified the current section he was in. That meant there were other sections he could see, some possibly blocked by locked gates or construction.</p><p> </p><p>Intuition said to go left, so Timothy started walking. He wasn’t expecting to step on a piece of yellowing paper. It now had his footprint on it, but he brushed off the dirt as best he could to read the type on it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 18th of March Notice: All nursing home operations are halted as of today due to lack of funds. This building is being re-registered as a residence and all staff are dismissed. This is effective immediately. The caretaker’s room on the third floor will be preserved; however, the doctor’s lounge will be demolished. All medicine and files will be properly sealed and stored for later disposal. All first floor wards will be converted into a library. The children’s room will be on the second floor. The basement is to be sealed off. Workers are allowed access to the property until the end of the work period. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Timothy slipped it into his bag, a small frown on his face. The basement was supposed to be sealed off, and he’d met Tsubasa in the basement. . . . Did it have something to do with the demon? There was a bunch of other weird stuff, like apparently destroying the third floor and stuff about medicine and files. . . . Somehow, he had a feeling his Father had been involved somehow.</p><p> </p><p>He continued forward into the next section, but abruptly stopped and gawked at the sight before him.</p><p> </p><p>A red haired man was lying on the cobblestone path, unconscious. Even from a distance, his blue naval uniform stood out. Timothy cautiously approached the man, soon finding himself next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, hello?”</p><p> </p><p>The man suddenly sprang up, tired eyes staring fixedly at something in the distance, color returning to his pale face. “Damn it! She was just here a minute ago!”</p><p> </p><p>Timothy was debating whether or not to speak up when the redhead abruptly noticed him.</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you? This isn’t a place for children.” A pause. The man rubbed at his head, as if a migraine had suddenly descended upon him. “Ah, she must’ve gone inside. . .I hope the servants will let me in.”</p><p> </p><p>Timothy warily began to move forward. Maybe he could sneak around him?</p><p> </p><p>Golden brown eyes suddenly looked at him once he was close enough, as if he’d forgotten about Timothy. “Sorry, I’m in a rush. If you’re lost, go to the servants here. I’m sure they’ll be able to help you.”</p><p> </p><p>The redhead ran without looking back, blue uniform quickly vanishing without a trace.</p><p> </p><p>The cat mewled, bringing a key to the boy. Did the red haired man drop it just now? Must be a shame for him, once he realizes it’s gone. Timothy didn’t know how to find him again, so the key was placed into the bag with the rest.</p><p> </p><p>Moving forward revealed the bottom left corner of the garden, a telescope placed on a dalis being the only notable thing in sight. That was probably the meaning of the moon symbol, a place to observe the night sky. The only path was to the right of him, upwards by the map’s layout.</p><p> </p><p>Again Timothy stopped, gawking at the small gathering of pigeons, five in total, surrounding a marble table with a hand clenched tightly in a fist. Upon closer inspection of this bizarre sight, he discovered the table could move, rotating smoothly. What was the purpose of this mechanic? There must be some puzzle to it.</p><p> </p><p>The pigeons began to speak.</p><p> </p><p>The first cooed, “A total of nine turns are needed.”</p><p> </p><p>“First to the right.” The second said.</p><p> </p><p>The third puffed up, “Turns to the right decrease by one each time.”</p><p> </p><p>“And turns to the left are always preceded by multiple turns to the right, until the final left turn.” The fourth flapped, as if reminding the third.</p><p> </p><p>“Three total turns to the left.” The final pigeon softly cooed.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy blinked. Were these pigeons giving him clues to solve the puzzle? It certainly seemed so.</p><p> </p><p>Well, he couldn’t waste free hints.</p><p> </p><p>So, nine turns in total, with three left turns in total. The first turn was right, which meant it ended on a left turn. That left seven turns to figure out. Assuming that seven and eight were right turns, that meant six would be left. . . .No, wait, that didn’t make sense. The right turns would have to decrease in order to make sense. Seven would have to be left. . . . So it would be right, right, right, left, right, right, left, right, left.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy carely rotated the base, feeling each turn register as something inside softly clicked. He was so excited that he could barely breathe.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The hand opened up, finally revealing what it clung to so greedily. The first was a bird’s wing, a myriad of blues creating a gradient that faded to white at the tips. At one point, it must’ve belonged to some sort of rare bird fluttering without a care in the word.</p><p> </p><p>But that was sad to think about.</p><p> </p><p>Again, there were some more of those story book pages. It was a bit strange, finding them around in random corners and knick-knacks, but they were entertaining.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Blue Bird of Happiness </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘There once was a young boy who lived with his poor mother and ill sister at the edge of town. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> After an unfortunate Christmas, on a sad evening, a witch came and told him about a blue bird that lived in a faraway kingdom that could bring them happiness. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So the boy picked up his burdens and said goodbye to his mother and sister.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That was it? Well, that was a pleasant beginning.</p><p> </p><p>The gate was locked, blocking the way ahead. Going into the middle didn’t help either; the bridge was flooded with water. He was forced to retreat, deciding to look at the right side.</p><p>More flowers, then a dead end with a large tree growing inside of a small plot of land. There was a table and chair next to it, books and stationary off to the side as another red bound booklet lay on the desk. Another of Mother’s journals. . . .What did she write about this time?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 5 Mai </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear diary, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I cleaned the room today. There’s not that many furnishings, but the lighting is very ideal and the curtains are my favorite color, red. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I understand now that people keep diaries in order to record or preserve their own lives; it is with this spirit that I continue to converse with this book. It’s different than those days that I filled it for my treatment. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Everything is so safe and reassuring now. My Heinrich visits often, now free of his doctoral codes. The new cleaner has been keeping everything nice and tidy</em>
  <em>. Her mother is Sophronia, the blonde maid who’s been off of work lately due to her pregnancy. She has a strange hair color, at times I swear it’s silver, but I’ve been told it’s just a very, very light blonde due to some anomaly at birth. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Siebel’s been running around, showing me pictures of nursery furniture to inspire my decoration. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I hear the birds singing now. It’s peaceful here. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I wish this moment could last forever. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>Marguerite</em></li>
</ul><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The leaves above suddenly rustled.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi.” With a woosh, the eye-catching purple sleeves danced in Timothy's vision. The journal vanished. The black cat bristled its fur and leapt into the shrubs on the side. Tsubasa didn’t seem to care that his hair and sleeves were dusting the cobblestone as he hung upside-down. “What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>Biting back his temper, Timothy looked up at him. “I’m looking for a man. He has red hair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, the one with the headache? Why are you looking for him? If anything you should tell him to leave. He won’t find what he’s looking for here, much less leave with the ending he wants.” The demon’s face quickly wrinkled in disgust, as if trying to hide some other emotion. “He barged in after breaking the door down. He’s making such a mess and raising such a fuss.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that so?” Might as well be blunt, then. “But I have some things to ask him, and he dropped something when he rushed off so I have to return it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Oh, he won’t notice you, no one here will.”</p><p> </p><p>“But--”</p><p> </p><p>“Except me. I’ll answer any question you have. I’ll answer honestly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, right.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, really, I will.”</p><p> </p><p>Timothy thought for a moment, then, “What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm? Oh, yes. . .” Tsubasa craned his neck around and shrugged as if he’d just noticed he was in a tree. “Well, I’ve come from below, beside, and behind you before but never from the top. It makes sense, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Worth a try.” The demon stopped there, briefly silent, then suddenly laughed with pride. It was like he had accomplished some great task. </p><p> </p><p>Of course he did. He should've known better than to expect a serious answer.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy started to walk away, reflecting on what he had read, the demon, and himself.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re leaving?” The demon made no move to come down as the boy walked away from him. “You could take a break, you know. A quick nap, maybe enjoy some sweets.”</p><p> </p><p>His voice faded as Timothy vanished around a corner. He had no intention of stopping for even a second. He would continue forward, find the front door, and leave this wretched place behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Strange Compassion and Hide 'n Seek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Added some stuff. Hopefully will make things feel more complete.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Unfortunately there wasn’t much else to do in the garden. There was only a limited shape to work with, and it seemed Timothy had solved the only puzzle in the area.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to re-enter the house, but with the gate to the rest of the garden closed and the water too high to wade through, it seemed the only way forward was to return to the house and find the key to the gate. Maybe if he was lucky it wouldn’t take too long. Maybe he’d meet the red-hair man again.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy sighed, turning back towards the manor in defeat.</p><p> </p><p>“Mew!”</p><p> </p><p>The cat pranced towards him and he smiled. “Hey buddy. Glad you’re back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mew!”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been appearing more often,” Timothy commented, “Are you worried about me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mew!” the cat replied, rubbing against his ankles.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes. Thanks.” Timothy scratched its ears, making the cat purr.</p><p> </p><p>Now that the cat was back, he didn’t feel so afraid. It was true that it couldn’t do much in the way of protecting him, but companionship was nice. Having an extra pair of eyes was nice too, to look out for danger or objects that could be used.</p><p> </p><p>The oppressive atmosphere returned as soon as he stepped inside. Timothy popped a chocolate in his mouth as the cat scurried ahead. It seemed keen on finding something. He followed, curious, and the cat stopped at a corner. The look it gave roughly translated to “Shh! There’s something nearby!”</p><p> </p><p>Timothy poked his head out. </p><p> </p><p>Let’s see. . .blue carpet, paintings on the wall, a small table with a piece of white cloth sticking out of the bottom. . . .</p><p> </p><p>Hold on, a piece of white cloth?</p><p> </p><p>With a good amount of trepidation, he quietly approached the table. He could hear some giggling coming from underneath. </p><p> </p><p>Some very pig-like giggling.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy yanked the cloth away, and one of the Three Little Pigs squealed.</p><p> </p><p>“You found me! No fair!” The older boy pouted.</p><p> </p><p>Found him?</p><p> </p><p>Oh, right, the hide-and-seek game.</p><p> </p><p>Before Timothy could say anything the older boy stomped away, disappearing around a corner. Good riddance, then. He wasn’t his problem.</p><p> </p><p>The cat meowed, dashing down the hallway before clawing at a door. “Mew! Mew!”</p><p> </p><p>“You found something?” Timothy walked over to the door. Strange. He was sure this door wasn’t here earlier. He couldn't have missed it, could he?</p><p> </p><p>Either way, the door was locked. Did one of the keys unlock it? </p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t hurt to try. Timothy opened his bag and took out the keys. None of the keys on the ring fit, but the key the red haired man dropped fit just fine.</p><p> </p><p>The door creaked, as if it needed oiling, opening into a dusty library. It must’ve been forgotten for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>He examined each bookshelf keenly, somewhat hopeful to find more pages of his mother’s diary. There were plenty of classics on them: <em> The Key of Solomon, Canterbury Tales, Praise of Folly, The Odyssey, Metaphysics, Good Omens. </em></p><p> </p><p>Something blue caught Timothy’s eye, peeking between two bookshelves. Once he teased it out, the thin packet revealed itself. I looked like it was a part of some sort of writing draft or research paper. There was a title page, but the words were smudged too badly to make any sense of it. All he could make out was <em> Written by Dr. Thaddeus Ziggurat </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy flipped the page.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dreams are interrupted by the conscious mind of the dreamer once they realize inconsistencies in the world they interact with. For example, if one remembers that it is actually a long weekend when dreaming of rushing to work, then they will wake up and the dream will end. Even nightmares, despite their bizarre construction, will be perceived as tangible as the real world as long as the conscious mind does not acknowledge the irregularities. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Boring.</p><p> </p><p>He flipped to another page.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sigmund Freud believed that dreams contain the desires of a person, usually instinctual in nature. If a man is starving, he may dream of endless feast to quench his hunger. If sexually repressed, he may dream of dominating male figures such as his father.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Although Freud was not wrong about the role desires play in dreams, he did not acknowledge the potent symbolism that often surrounds them that has nothing to do with desire. For that, we turn to Carl Jung. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Another page.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There are four main archetypes that Jung listed, with three secondary ones: the Persona, the Shadow (occasionally called the Trickster), the Anima/Animus, the Self, the Innocent (usually divided into three sub-archetypes), the Mentor/Wise Man, and the Holy Mother.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Of these, I would like to draw attention to the Shadow for this paragraph. Both Freud and Jung agree that each human has a “dark aspect” of themselves that manifests in one way or another. For Freud, it was the main force of desire that permeates every dreamer. For Jung, it was the negative traits and thoughts of a dreamer personified, a tangible form for them to confront in order to “become whole”. However both men seem to avoid the fact that a person’s traumas and memories can inform dreams, instead focusing on generic symbolism, and this is especially the case with the Shadow. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I believe that the Shadow is a compilation, a sort of homunculus, of desires (such as coveting another’s belongings), negative traits (such as anger issues), and traumatic memories. In order for a person to wholly rejoin society, they must be guided into confrontation with the Shadow and successfully process the whole of it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Meow!”</p><p> </p><p>Timothy turned his attention away from the packet, cat plaintively mewling at a key on one of the bookshelves. It was just out of reach, even with Timothy standing on his tip-toes trying to pull himself up.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe if he stood on some books. . . .</p><p> </p><p>A small pile of books was soon amassed, and although the cat mewled in warning Timothy hopped up and tried to reach the key. The stack wobbled.</p><p> </p><p>He was so close. Just a little more and--</p><p> </p><p>Timothy gasped as his body lurched backwards, key in his hand, before someone caught him.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh dear, this is rather dangerous.” The demon clipped his tongue in disapproval before lowering him to the ground. “You could’ve cracked your skull open with that stunt.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t pretend you actually care about me.” Timothy snapped, pulling away.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretend? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re implying.” Those gold eyes were wide with faux shock.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy huffed and began to turn away, but stopped.</p><p> </p><p>The key wasn’t in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Looking for this?” Tsubasa dangled the key in front of Timothy. “I don’t know why you’d risk maiming yourself for this little thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Give it back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why should I?” Tsubasa tucked the key into his pocket. “It doesn’t belong to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Finders keepers.” Timothy stepped forward, hand out. “Give it back.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Tsubasa turned his back on him, clopping away, leaving him in stunned silence.</p><p> </p><p>From the corner of his eye, Timothy saw the cat carefully swipe at the pocket, claws catching on the ribbon and pulling the key out. The demon barely batted an eye as he vanished around the corner. The cat happily lay the key at Timothy’s feet, tail waving in victory.</p><p> </p><p>Timothy smiled, scratching the cat’s ears. “Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mrrt!”</p><p> </p><p>Time to move on.</p><p> </p><p>It was quiet as the two made their way back down the hall. The new key was now hung around Timothy’s neck, tucked underneath his shirt to keep it safe from view. The cat was still by his side. The game of hide-and-seek now infiltrated his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Mister Cat. Should we find the other two pigs?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmmr?” The cat seemed confused by his sudden eagerness to participate in the game, tipping his head to one side.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, we’ve already found one. Why not find the rest?” Timothy justified.</p><p> </p><p>The cat shrugged, ears flicking briefly before dashing back down the hall, into the foyer, and back in the right hall. Timothy was on his tail the entire way. The sound of shattering plates echoed in the distance, the cat heading into the dining hall. Once Timothy entered, the sound stopped. Since the dining hall didn’t look any different, the sound must’ve come from the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>The kitchen was a mess. Broken shards of porcelain and glass mingled on the floor, leaving an obvious trail towards the fireplace. Even without it, Timothy could still see the small pig’s tail poking out.</p><p> </p><p>“Squeee! No fair!” The Little Pig angrily pushed past him before he could even utter a word.</p><p> </p><p>Rude! At least that was two Little Pigs down, one more to go.</p><p> </p><p>No matter where Timothy searched, the last pig was nowhere in the manor. Was the last one hiding in the garden? He hadn’t seen them there. Maybe they were behind that locked gate?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bang! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That sound came from the left hallway downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>He practically ran downstairs, throwing open the door and staring in disbelief at the large hole in the wall. It was down the hall, close to the 90-degree bend.</p><p> </p><p>How did that happen? Should he investigate? This entire thing reeked of danger. It could even be a trap but. . . .</p><p> </p><p>Something was familiar about that hole, despite the terror that came from simply looking at it. Like it was an old place he had been or somewhere he’d been trapped in. But there wasn’t any logical reason for him to go down.</p><p> </p><p>The cat’s fur bristled, and it dashed into the hole, out of sight.</p><p> </p><p>“Mister Cat, wait!” Looks like he didn’t have a choice now. Timothy entered into the hole, following the runway cat as the two of them descended deeper into the foundation of the house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Bird Bird of Happiness Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year's!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The passageway was cold and dry as Timothy descended. The sterile white bricks reminded him of a mausoleum untouched by man, the air weighed with death. It was quiet. Too quiet. There was no sign of the cat. No sign of any life, not even rats or bugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt like he was going nowhere, with the seemingly infinite staircase pressing around him. What if it really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> infinite? Could he even go back into the house?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy’s fears were quickly assuaged as the stairs ended, leveling off to meet a door. It was a gunmetal grey, cold to the touch, but it swung open so easily as if it was only made of cardboard. The fear reemerged as a nearby record player jumped to life and started playing an old opera melody. That song awakened a deep seated unease in him, but Timothy couldn’t remember why.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Faites-lui mes aveux, portez me voeux! Fleurs écloses près d’elle,dites-lui qu’elle est belle, que mon coeur, nuit et jour, languit d’amour!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The irritatingly cheerful song hung in the air as he entered the white-grey ward. It felt off, dissonant from the seemingly hospital-like environment. Doors lined the walls beside him, all locked save for the one that led into the next hall. But the next hall was the same as the previous one, and so was the next and the next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a gradual change, the walls darkening and the doors vanishing to make way for crude drawings of church windows. Soon enough the tile gave way to carpet and Timothy stopped to look at this new environment. All of the drawings felt alive, staring at him in judgement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drawings </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fear fluttered in his stomach, every step he took caused the drawing to shift their eyes. He needed to hide, needed to find a place to go where no one glared at him like a nuisance or leered at him like he was some rare commodity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he started to run. Run and hope that he could escape from this hellish hall. But the eyes kept following him, kept their attention on him and him alone. He ran faster and faster but that didn’t help. He only wore himself out and collapsed on the carpet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy looked up, “Mr. Cat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!” The meow came from nearby, to his left. Between two windows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another insistent “Mew!” was what convinced him to go between the windows. He practically scrambled towards the hallway. Carpet gave way to tile, and the velvet darkness soon turned to white walls of sterile brick. The song was still playing, hanging in the air, getting louder as he moved forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door ahead didn’t lead to another hallway. Instead it led into a stuffy office that adults used. It was furnished with a plain desk and bookshelves. A journal lay on the desk, many of its pages torn out. There was some weird, sticky rust on the cover. It didn’t look like anything Mother would write in, but that made it all the more mysterious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started reading.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>25.Okt Memo</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He came to visit the mayor's poor daughter. I don't know when they met each other, but the timing is uncanny. This is quite devious. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he here to expose me? To take away my benefactor? I know he's not interested in her. It's plain to see who he's really looking at.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>5.Nov Memo</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had to say those triplets were house imps after Kagome accidentally saw them. They were teasing that boy again with a game of hide and seek, and they were hiding.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will that boy ever see that they will not become his friends? I suppose not. He was always like that, simply a stiff automata trying to copy what others do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>30.Nov Memo</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snow come down heavy and cover the tracks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I'm running out of supplies. This is alarming.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>13.Dez Memo</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The mayor's eyes will be staying the night. Must lock door.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A paper slid out, as if it had been shoved in as some bookmark. It was too easy to see the difference between the journal pages and this paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>List</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>Public hospital blood supply is running low. Opportunity to lure back customers.</span></em></li>
</ul><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Emma Wolf: 7 pints</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hilda H[][][]e: 10 pints</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>An[][][] Huth: Kidney and liver</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Conrad [][][][]win: Discard</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alder. Schumacher: Everything other than heart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Paul Miller:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hans Miller:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pauline Muller: Cornea</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>E[][][] Meyer:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[][][][][][][] Meyer:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kagome Hagane</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mother’s name?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A shadow suddenly loomed over Timothy, and before he even had the chance to turn around or even scream, something large and heavy abruptly slugged the side of his head. He collapsed to the ground, vision swimming, only seeing the well-made shoes of his attacker before he faded into a dreamless sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he woke up, gazing up at the night sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was in the garden, back at the area with the turning puzzle. But he was on a bed, where the hand and pedestal was earlier. The pigeons were red feathered, eyes a beady black, completely focused on the bed, silent. The gate from earlier was unlocked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat quickly moved out of the way as Timothy got up. It rubbed against his legs, as if to apologize for running off. For putting him in danger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” Timothy scratched behind his ears. “I’m okay, Mister Cat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meow.” The cat rubbed against him again before following him towards the now unlocked gate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Screeeek!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took some effort on Timothy’s part to open the metal gate. It probably had rusty hinges or something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked in, then froze, not even noticing the cat freeze right outside the gate, so focused on the wooden door that was just sitting in the middle of the small space, like it was some bizarre art piece or sculpture. Reaching out to touch it only made things weirder as the door suddenly stood up on human legs, opened, and swallowed him up into the darkness. Timothy stumbled forward, completely disoriented, until the floor suddenly dropped out from under him and he fell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt like forever until he landed inside of something. He had to pick himself up, thoughts racing all the while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where was he? This place. . .This was a maze? How had he ended up there? He’d been in the garden, with that strange walking door. . . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No time to dwell on that. He needed to figure out how to get out. See if there were any clues on how to find his way out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Unlike the hall of stained windows, the maze was easier to navigate because of the blue arrows that were scribbled on the wall that mingled with the red graffiti. They did only point in the general direction, but they still guided Timothy to the exit. An exit that was just a room that one might find on some ship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the ground was a blue feather, a pair of keys, and some paper loosely tied together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Blue Bird of Happiness</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘He arrived in a world filled with pills. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was nothing for him there, so he was forced to leave with the empty birdcage.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he found companionship with a seaman and so sailed with him on his ship.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then everything faded to black and Timothy fell back into dreamless sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Blue Bird of Happiness Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It shouldn’t have been such a surprise to wake up back in the garden, but something about it rankled Timothy. Like he was exposed or being watched. Both were probably accurate since the demon was around and god knows who or what else. He was probably laughing at him right now, sneering all the while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy shook off the feeling, getting back up from the bed. It was still nighttime, the moonlight casting everything in a pale blue hue. The gate was still open too, but the inside looked different. Canvases were arranged around a torn teddy bear, mannequins posed haphazardly around the larger space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing of use.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second page was still in his hand, of that fairytale. He still didn’t understand why it was important, same with the others, but he could guess. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Puss in Boots</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed to be some sort of rondo or dark operetta based on the elderly Hagane’s mysterious death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least that was more understandable to him than calling it a mere fairytale retelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cat looked up as Timothy scratched his ears. “Mew!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know. This is all very strange.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat chuffed, tail waving in the air, as it began to waltz out of the garden. Like it knew where to go. At this point, Timothy knew it was right. There wasn’t anything that could be done here for now. Best follow and see where it took him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back into the manor, through the corridors, and back into the hole in the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. As hesitant as he was to go down, Timothy knew he didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, it had helped him a lot and showed him important things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he took a deep breath and walked down towards the cat. It stood up and started scratching on the door as soon as he touched the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wanted him to open the door again? Fine, he could do that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smell of damp earth surrounded him, low ceilings of hard dirt and wooden supports illuminated by oil lamps. The walls were wrapped in logs and mud. A wooden sign was hammered into the ground, with rough words and a drawing of a pig carved into the oak plank.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Super Secret Base!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cat and Timothy not allowed</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looked like the Three Little Pigs claimed this place, but they definitely didn’t build it. They didn’t look strong enough to dig out an entire cave system.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy looked down. “You have something else to show me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that as a yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat let out a pleased </span>
  <em>
    <span>chuff</span>
  </em>
  <span>, walking down the hall, further into the tunnels. The path was easy enough to follow, but after the cat rounded a corner, Timothy ran straight into a navy-blue coat, bumping into the damp body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you again!” The young man’s gaze fell onto him. “What are you still doing here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy opened his mouth to explain, but the young man turned away and started walking. He wanted to call out to him, to ask why he was here and who he was when the man suddenly swung back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you seen a young lady around here? Around this height,” he made a line in the air, a good couple of feet into the air, “and with red hair like mine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The expression on his face was so intense that Timothy almost didn’t want to answer him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the man continued, “She’s being kept here against her will. She’d never run off like this by herself, so she must be very frightened. Have you seen her? No? Alright, then stay here and don’t wander off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy hadn’t been able to get a single word in as the man walked off and vanished into the earthen tunnels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was. . .awfully rude. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to say anything!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffed, glaring daggers at the spot the man once stood before stomping on ahead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That quickly became a problem, as the tunnels darkened the further down he went and the candle was nearly burnt out. He needed to switch it out soon, but he only had matches and he didn’t want to risk burning his fingers for only a few seconds of light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!” The cat returned, dropping a fresh candle at his feet. Grateful for the assistance, Timothy eagerly lit it and replaced the old one, snuffing it out in the process.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” He smiled, petting the cat briefly before straightening. “What do you have to show me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An ear flicked as the cat seemed undecided, as if unsure it actually wanted to show him what it found. But the cat stood up, meowed, and led him to a dusty doorway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dimly lit room brightened somewhat as Timothy entered with his candle. There were some bookshelves up against the wall, books covered in dust and cobwebs, a decrepit bed, and a small desk that was surprisingly clean. If it was as old as everything else here, it should be dusty and broken, maybe even covered in a slight layer of dirt from the damaged ceiling. There was a journal page next to a slightly crumpled letter set on it, still in good condition.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>April 9</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The flowers I planted in March have started to bloom, and the entire garden is alive with birdsong. I asked Siebel to write a letter to my brother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope he understands that he doesn’t need to worry, for I am well here. I know he’ll understand if I tell him properly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy read the letter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Hagane,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How are you? My apologies for the fact that I'm the one responding on Kagome's behalf after such a long period of time. There were simply too many things to be handled here and the situation has only become stable recently. It's springtime now, the most charming season. The snow has melted and the temperature has risen back to a more tolerable range.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your mother disappeared in a blizzard after searching for Dr. Wagner. We haven't given up hope that both shall be found safe and sound. But don't worry. Dr.[][][][] and Dr. Ziggurat are here to monitor Kagome's health.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The situation is quite good as of now. So is Kagome. Please be at ease. Don't try to find us, Kagome doesn't wish to see you. The weather of early spring is still quite erratic, so please take care of yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D.B.Siebel</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy tucked it into the bag, popping another piece of chocolate into his mouth. It melted easily, but its sweetness tasted slightly bitter on his tongue as he thought about the letter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So mother had a brother. . . . What happened to him? In a previous entry she mentioned the Navy. . . .</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter. This didn’t concern him. All he wanted was to escape this nightmare, no matter what secrets he’d gain by staying. The fact that Tsubasa hadn’t appeared in quite a while was concerning, however. What sort of plan did he have?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy sat down with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dust rising from the bed. Rest, he needed to rest. He’d been walking for too long and had barely eaten the small stash of chocolate. It was a miracle that he hadn’t dropped the candle or collapsed on the ground. He could worry about the demon’s plans after he got some rest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After setting the candle on the desk and taking off the bag, he settled on the old bed, too tired to simply go back upstairs. The cat jumped on soon after, curling beside him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was nice, all things considered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy had just closed his eyes when a gramophone began to play. It was soothing, but there hadn’t been one in the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up, no longer in the bed and without the cat by his side. Four paths intersected into a crossroad, and he was in the middle of it. To his left was the gramophone, simply floating in the void of hastily drawn eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were all focused on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood up, the music still playing in the background. Despite being right next to the gramophone, it was still quiet, merely background noise. But it still left him with four paths to choose from if he wanted to leave, and he doubted that it was just those four. There would be more, he was sure of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One step East, then another, and then another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Static before entering the next crossroad. Timothy was back in the middle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So that was the wrong way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffed. So this entire affair would be trial-and-error then? Fine. He could handle this then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gramophone kept playing as he headed to the South, then West, then finally North. No static cut through the music as he reached the next crossroad. Unlike the first, there was no gramophone to his left this time, yet the music still played. Timothy tried going North, but the static played and he found himself back at that first crossroad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bit back a groan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It just had to put him back at the beginning when he failed, didn’t it? It couldn’t just be trial-and-error, because that would be too easy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsubasa was probably laughing from wherever he was watching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, forget about the demon. Best solve this puzzle first, get out of this void.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back North again, fail two more times, then finally progress to the third crossroad to the West. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So North, then West, should he fail again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took three more failures for Timothy to realize that the music became louder every time he was on the right path. It took two more to realize that he could turn back before he tried to step into the middle of another crossroad if the music didn’t increase in volume.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Timothy was back at the beginning, resting for a brief moment, a plan already in place. Once he’d felt like he’d rested enough, he stood and began to navigate the crossroads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>North, West, East, then West.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>South, East, North, East, then South.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In front of Timothy, just before his shoes, was a blue feather and a page.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Blue Bird of Happiness</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘They traveled to the land of machines.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A bustling metropolis filled with smoke and steel, the pride of the country.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The young man soon flew under the banner of the Navy, bluebird embroidered proudly against the grey sky.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>void faded, and Timothy’s eyes fluttered open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was. . .a dream?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still on the old bed, candle still lit and burning bright. It looked like it had just been freshly lit, even though it should’ve melted a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mew!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat sat on the ground, a key tucked between its paws. All thoughts of dreaming were cast aside, as Timothy reached down to pick it up. Despite its size and handcrafted quality, it shone a bright gold, letting all imperfections show.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he ever escaped from this manor, maybe he would ask a blacksmith why an iron key could appear golden. One would probably know better than he did. After all, they could make these sorts of things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he was getting distracted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Timothy stood up, the cat walked to the doorway and waited for him to get the candle. It didn’t wait for him to get the bag, though, swiftly vanishing into the darkness. He mumbled a string of nonsense before quickly grabbing it and following the cat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another door greeted him as the cat paced impatiently outside. Tugging on it confirmed that it was locked, and the gold key fit perfectly inside. The dank smell of the cellar greeted him, oak tankards against the wall and barrels scattered around the floor. A few were open, flies gathering at the mahogany pools.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a feeling that they weren’t wine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Behind a barrel was a small, curly tail. The last Little Pig squealed as soon as he moved it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve found all of us.” Unlike the other two, this Little Pig was eerily calm. “Now it’s our turn to find you. Time to hide, little wolf.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Timothy could say a word, he vanished, leaving only a red crayon behind. It ended up in his bag, tucked in a handkerchief that was inside the bag so it didn’t stain.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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